


Dead Birds Are Not In The Guide Of How To Woo Moomintrolls

by PrinceJakeFireCake



Series: The Guide Of How To Woo A Moomintroll [1]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Bad Seduction, Bathing/Washing, Blood, Bloody fluff, Dead Bat, Dead Rat, Dead bird, Feral Snufkin, Hair Brushing, Hair Washing, I don't think the descriptions are graphic, I promise, Letters, Little My Is Done With Them, Love Letters, M/M, Moomin Is His Boyfriend, Moomin Loves Him Too Much, Moomin's Into It, Moominpappa Has Vietnam Flashbacks, Obvious Snufkin, Snufkin Is A Furry Little Feral Raccoon Child, Tell Me If There's Anything Else To Tag, Wooing, but better safe than sorry, how could I resist writing my raccoon child as feral?, its soft, please
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18904657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceJakeFireCake/pseuds/PrinceJakeFireCake
Summary: Snufkin wants to woo Moomin, subtly. Of course, this leads to dead animals, bathing in an actual bathtub, Moomintroll being mostly clueless, Little My being done with her dumbass brother, Moominmamma being supportive, Moominpappa having flashbacks, and Joxter eventually actually admitting that he has no idea how to woo a Moomintroll.It's a process.





	Dead Birds Are Not In The Guide Of How To Woo Moomintrolls

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me if I forgot to tag anything! I swear, I promise, the blood isn't that bad. Look, I had to write some bloody, feral children, I wrote for Hannibal's fandom for too long to know how to write anything else. Anyway, we need more feral, cat Snufkin, and I wanted to deliver. I crave my feral raccoon child. I also crave Joxter being the worst at wooing people, just dropping dead mice on their pillows and hoping. 
> 
> Long story short, I hope you like my fluffy, feral, raccoon child story.

It was a gorgeous spring day, Moomin thought. There were flowers blooming along the fields and in the trees, the river sounded almost like it was chuckling as it weaved through the grassy fields, and there were only a few, white, fluffy clouds in the sky. Moomin had opened his window when he awoke to the sound of harmonica music, but Snufkin was clearly sitting at his campsite. Still, the tune was nice, so Moomin listened. When it stopped, mid-tune, he didn't think much of it, only shut his window and went downstairs to prepare for the day.

Mamma was in the kitchen, cooking something sweet for breakfast while another pot smelled savory on the stove top. Moomin bounded over to her, sniffing the air. Pappa sat nearby, pretending to read a newspaper but really just watching Mamma with a smile.

"What's that, Mamma?" Moomin asked.

"I'm making stew for dinner," Mamma replied, smiling at her son. "It has to cook all day. Will you go outside and get Little My, Dear? Breakfast is almost ready."

"Of course!" Moomin chirped, thinking he could see Snufkin while he was at it.

Moomin skipped to the door, excitedly planning how to properly invite Snufkin to breakfast, only to open the door and stop. There was a coppery scent in the air, thick enough that Moomin wrinkled his nose and looked around. When he finally looked down, he nearly gagged. 

A half-eaten, dead mouse lay there, innocently being dead, on the doormat. Moomin recoiled, shocked. Dead mice weren't exactly uncommon, but a clearly half-eaten one presented so neatly on the doormat definitely wasn't common. It was arranged shockingly neatly, though, Moomin thought, tilting his head. It wasn't even directly touching the mat, all the blood soaking into a nest of napkins, with a few napkins shaped vaguely like birds. Moomin was grossed out that he found it kind of pretty. He assumed it was animal instincts.

Never hearing the door close, Moominmamma and Pappa both investigated. Mamma stiffened in shock at the sight of a dead mouse, but Pappa looked vaguely like he was having war flashbacks. It was then that Snufkin and Little My wandered by, Snufkin licking what Moomin told himself, quite clearly and resolutely, was not blood but raspberry jam from his fingers. Little My was complaining about him being gross, but stopped at the sight of the Moomins. Snufkin stopped, too, wiping off the pinkish liquid on his green smock.

"What is it?" Snufkin asked, stepping onto the porch to innocently gaze down at the mouse.

"Snufkin, it's a dead mouse," Little My grumbled, rubbing her paws over her face like a tired, incredibly small, old man.

"How odd!" Snufkin exclaimed. "Who would leave that there?"

"Maybe, there's a stray cat," Moomin wondered aloud.

Moominmamma didn't know how to say that it was probably a courting gift without sounding creepy, so she decided not to say anything.

"Are you okay, Moominpappa?" Snufkin asked, seemingly actually concerned for the first time. "You seem a little shocked."

"Oh, I'm fine," Pappa grumbled, leaning down and picking up the dead mouse with a bare paw, not even a hint of hesitation in his body language. "I was just thinking about an old friend."

"You looked kind of like you wanted to punch something," Moomin commented.

"Some old friends give me that want," Pappa stated, then left with no further explanation.

There was a beat of silence. Snufkin was fiddling with his mouth organ, ignoring Little My's pointed, judgmental look. Moomin wondered again how the mouse got there, looking down at the bloodless front mat. Mamma tried not to gently take Moomin's arm and point at Snufkin.

"Are you hungry?" Mamma asked, gently.

"Yes," Little My stated. "I'm also thirsty. Where does Pappa keep the good stuff?"

"You can't drink this early in the morning, Dear," Mamma told her, then looked at Moomin and Snufkin. 

"I'm afraid I've already eaten," Snufkin murmured, still looking down at his mouth organ. "But, thank you for offering."

"I'll eat," Moomin said, though he wasn't sure how much he could actually stomach. "Do you want to do something, after breakfast, Snufkin?"

Snufkin immediately perked up, a small smile on his face. Mamma left the two oblivious boys on the porch, making excited plans for the day. Little My and Pappa both looked like they needed something a bit harder than orange juice, but Mamma only gave them some pancakes.

 

Around noon, rain poured from the sky in buckets. Moomin, Snufkin, Little My, Snorkmaiden, and Sniff all scrambled for cover in the Moominhouse. Mamma gave them all towels and some pajamas for Snufkin to wear while his clothes dried. He accepted with an apologetic smile while Little my shook herself off like a dog. Mamma gave her another dress, a pointed look, and Little My and Snufkin both left the room to change.

"Do you ever wonder what they look like without clothes on?" Sniff questioned, out of the blue.

Snorkmaiden and Moomin both gave him weird looks, a little bit grossed out. Sniff flushed and hurried to defend himself.

"We don't wear clothes!" he argued. "I'm not weird! It's normal to have questions! Why do they wear clothes anyway?"

"We don't have fur, doofus," Little My stated, popping back into the room and pointedly sitting on the side of Moomin farthest away from Sniff.

"I have fur," Snufkin commented, popping up out of nowhere much like Little My, sitting on the opposite side of Moomin. "Not as much as any of you though, so that's mostly why."

"Hair on your head doesn't count, Snufkin," Sniff argued.

Snufkin looked vaguely annoyed, but pulled up the shirt he was wearing just enough to reveal a light coating of light brown fur all over his tummy. Moomin immediately wanted to touch it, as did Little My, by the look on her face. Snufkin lowered the shirt again, packing his pipe instead.

"If you have fur, why do you wear clothes?" Sniff questioned pointedly.

"He'd get cold!" Snorkmaiden piped up. "He's only got a little bit of fur!"

"You wish me to freeze, Sniff?" Snufkin asked, voice monotone and unhurt. "How cold, Sniff. How cruel."

"Lemme touch your fur," Little My ordered, squirming over Moomin's lap to get closer.

"Why?" Snufkin muttered.

"I didn't reveal your dumb, dark secret," she responded.

He seemed thoughtful, for a moment, then lifted up the shirt again. Little My patted his back, where the fur was thicker.

"Hurry, Moomin, while he doesn't expect it," Little My hissed, grabbing Moomin's paw and guiding it to Snufkin's back. Snufkin stiffened immediately under the touch, while Moomin melted a bit.

"I'm sorry, Snufkin," Moomin said, softly, but didn't stop patting the coarse fur. 

"It's alright," Snufkin muttered, relaxing a bit. "Little My is like that."

"I'm a lady," Little My stated, but she kept patting his back with Moomin.

"Is it soft?" Snorkmaiden asked, unbearably curious.

"No," Moomin and Little My responded, at the same time, but didn't stop. Snufkin's face was bright red, at this point.

"Why are you still...?" he trailed off with a high-pitched sound of embarrassment, shoving the shirt back down when Mamma walked in with mugs of hot cocoa.

"Oh!" Mamma gasped, seeing both Moomin's and Little My's paws up Snufkin's shirt, Sniff and Snorkmaiden both wearing slightly jealous expressions, and Snufkin's begging of "please kill me" with just his eyes. She was silent for a moment, as everyone went still and stared at her. Finally, she offered, "Would you like me to come back later?"

"I'm going to go throw myself into the ocean," Snufkin muttered, getting to his feet so Little My's and Moomin's paws fell from him. 

"Oh, Snufkin Dear, don't do that," Mamma chuckled, patting his head soothingly. "I made you some coffee."

"I guess I can stick around a bit longer," Snufkin grumbled, sitting back down. Moomin and Little My both raised their paws again, but Snufkin hissed at them and they lowered their paws once more.

"I still think it's stupid to wear clothes over fur," Sniff decided.

"All Mumriks wear clothes," Mamma commented, handing out warm mugs. "It's specifically to keep Mymbles and Moomins from jumping them."

Little My snickered at Moomin's face flushing. The subject was dropped, even though Sniff didn't know what that meant. He got the feeling, from Snorkmaiden's giggling and Snufkin's pointed glare, that he shouldn't ask.

 

The dead bird was a bit messier than the dead rat, despite being a whole dead bird. Moomin found it bleeding out on his windowsill when he'd opened it that morning, his eyes widening at the sight. It lay in a pool of its own blood, still fresh and spreading. Moomin wondered if Mamma knew how to get bloodstains out of wood.

"Pappa! Mamma!" Moomin called, trotting to his parents' room. "There's a dead bird on my windowsill!"

"How strange," Mamma commented, while Pappa got out of bed to go see. She didn't even look up from her knitting.

"What do you think it is, Mamma?" Moomin asked, confused.

"Well, you know what they say," Mamma hummed. "Every cat owner I've ever met has told me that their small friends often leave them little presents."

"Sniff's cat doesn't like me very much," Moomin said, thoughtfully. "Maybe, Snufkin's seen a cat hanging around!"

"I'm sure he knows all about it," Mamma murmured.

"I'll go ask!" Moomin chirped, running out of the room and down the stairs. 

He found Snufkin in the river, his little boots sitting on the shore as he stood, barefoot, in the gently running creek. He looked like he was rinsing out a pot, but his gaze found Moomin relatively quickly. Snufkin offered a smile.

"Good morning, Moomintroll," Snufkin greeted.

"There was a dead bird on my windowsill," Moomin responded.

Snufkin looked at him, brows raised.

"Mamma said cats like to leave presents," Moomin continued, "So, I was wondering if you've seen any cats wandering around Moominvalley."

"Only the usual ones," Snufkin replied, turning his attention back to the river. "They stay in the forest. They don't like anyone very much."

"Oh, Snufkin," Moomin sighed, flopping down on the grass to stare dejectedly out at the river. "I don't mind the dead animals - they all seem pretty old - but I wish I knew who was leaving them around. What if they're someone's lunch?"

"I don't think anyone's eating their lunch on your windowsill," Snufkin commented.

"That does sound pretty dangerous," Moomin admitted. "What do you think it is, Snufkin?"

Snufkin froze. He stared at Moomin with the look of someone who knew exactly what was going on, but didn't want to admit any knowledge. Moomin would've found that strange, if he'd been looking at Snufkin.

"O-owls drop things, sometimes," Snufkin muttered, awkwardly.

"Oh!" Moomin perked up, then looked confused. "But, the porch-"

"Fickle creatures, owls are," Snufkin stated.

Moomin pondered this. Snufkin finished his washing in the river, carefully climbing out. He ignored his boots for the moment, which gave Moomin plenty of time to look at his fluffy little feet. Moomin thought back to Snufkin's coarse fur, which he knew, instinctively, would soften up immediately with a proper bubble bath and some brushing. 

"Do you own a brush, Snufkin?" Moomin asked, curious.

"I've never seen much of a use for one," Snufkin admitted, shoving the pot back in his bag and drying off his legs with a blanket. "I use my fingers."

Moomin didn't know how to properly express a want to see Snufkin properly groomed, so he settled on a little huff.

"You should at least have one for special occasions," Moomin commented.

"What do you mean?" Snufkin questioned, sitting down beside Moomin to pull his boots back on.

"Well, what if you meet someone cute on your travels and you want to impress them?" Moomin offered the first thing that came to mind, then blushed and felt stupid. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Snufkin looked suddenly thoughtful.

"That's a point, I guess," Snufkin said. "How would I go about getting a brush?"

"How'd you get your other possessions?" Moomin asked.

"I stole them from park keepers and orphanage owners," Snufkin replied automatically, then began to get to his feet.

"Wait! No! Don't steal from the park keeper!" Moomin exclaimed, scrambling up after him. "You can just borrow mine!"

"I can?" Snufkin seemed surprised.

"Of course!" Moomin replied, leading Snufkin back to his house. "Of course, you have to bathe before you brush."

"You do?"

"Yes," Moomin lied. "It's quite necessary. You have to use soaps, too. More than one. Preferably in bubbles."

"Oh my," Snufkin sighed. "Grooming is very difficult."

"I don't mind helping," Moomin promised.

Snufkin smiled.

Bathing Snufkin, in the middle of the day, came as quite a shock to Mamma and Pappa, who both subtly tried to make sure he was feeling okay. After some reassurances and temperature takings, Mamma offered to help the mud and dirt-caked boy wash off. 

Snufkin didn't argue as he got into the bath, sans clothing, but his hissed a bit when Mamma gently started scrubbing his back. Mamma gave small, comforting noises, which Snufkin unhappily allowed to relax him. Moomin, to distract him, began telling him about a strange dream he'd had. Snufkin seemed hooked on his words, probably on purpose to avoid hissing at Mamma again. Moomin liked to think his dream of him and Snufkin becoming pirates, then Little My throwing Sniff off the plank, was actually just that interesting.

The bathwater, eventually, was too filthy to bathe in anymore, so Mamma made Snufkin get out and into a towel for a second. She only let him back in, which Snufkin seemed a bit impatient for, if the shifting from foot to foot was any indication, when the tub was clean again. This time, Moomin and Mamma filled it with the bubble bath solution, filling the tub with pink bubbles. Snufkin seemed purely content, a soft purr rumbling from his chest as he poked at the bubbles.

"You can help him with the other soaps, right Moomin?" Mamma suggested.

"I can! Moomin agreed.

"I'll go make some lunch, so don't take more than an hour," Mamma giggled. "Have fun, Snufkin Dear."

"Thank you, Moominmamma," Snufkin responded, content. The moment the door closed behind her, Snufkin slumped over the side of the tub, his purr twice as loud. "Soaps aren't necessary, Moomintroll. I think lounging would be just fine."

"You don't want to brush?" Moomin suggested, only thinking about how painful the knots would be without second soap.

Snufkin looked torn. Moomin laughed at the expression.

"You're always welcome to come back here to bathe, Snufkin," Moomin stated, handing him the first soap.

Snufkin stared at him. Moomin stared back. Eventually, he got the message. He rubbed the soap through Snufkin's hair, while Snufkin massaged his arms and legs with it. Already, with just the first thorough scrub and the first soap, Snufkin's hair was softer. Moomin helped him rinse it out, then the second soap, what Moomin had been waiting for the whole time, made the fur before him softer and silky. Moomin wanted to bury his face in it, but made due with his paws.

Finally, once Snufkin was firmly cocooned in a towel, the two boys went to Moomin's room. As they walked, Little My fell into step beside Snufkin.

"You smell like flowers." She sounded vaguely disturbed.

"Moomin told me that the scented water was necessary before brushing," Snufkin stated.

Little My gave Moomin a judgmental look that he ignored by pretending he didn't notice her existence. She closed the door behind them, while Moomin dug through his drawer to find his brush. Snufkin looked a bit nervous.

"Will it hurt?" he asked.

"I did my best so it wouldn't," Moomin promised. Snufkin relaxed just slightly.

"Can I put bows in your hair?" Little My questioned, even as Snufkin sat on the bed.

"Why would you want to?" he questioned right back. "You have ten little sisters to play with."

"Mymble always says I suck at hair and won't let me!" Little My complained. "I wanna practice. C'mon, Snufkin!"

"I guess it can't hurt?" It came out as a question.

Little My looked genuinely excited as she raced out of the room to retrieve ribbons and whatever-elses. Moomin ran the brush through Snufkin's hair tentatively. Snufkin stiffened in shock, the sparse fur on his body standing on end.

"Are you okay?" Moomin murmured, hopefully soothingly. "I can stop."

"No, it's fine," Snufkin replied, forcing his shoulders to relax. "I just didn't expect it."

"Oh! Sorry."

When Moomin began brushing again, this time with warning, he was surprised how easily it slid through. Maybe, Snufkin's fingers were a better comb than Moomin'd thought. Little My returned with several lengths of different coloured ribbons. She took the brush from Moomin, who allowed it warily. She seemed quite skillful, as soon Snufkin's hair was gathered into two tiny ponytails just behind each ear. Moomin almost imploded, he was so cute.

"You're good at this, Little My," Snufkin commented, as she ran the brush down the fur on his back.

"I have to brush my own hair every morning," Little My responded, though there was a touch of pride in her tone.

Snufkin took the brush himself to brush down his stomach, only to purr immediately. Moomin almost imploded, again, he was so cute. 

"Brushes are quite nice, I suppose," Snufkin purred. 

"You're so cute," Moomin whispered.

"What was that?" Snufkin asked, wearily looking over.

"Nothing!" Moomin assured, covering Little My's mouth so she couldn't reveal the truth. "Little My, why don't you go grab Snufkin's clothes?"

He herded her out of the room. She looked vaguely done with life.

"You're very soft, now," Moomin told Snufkin, running a paw along the fur on his back. "I bet you'd woo anyone you like like this."

"You think so?" Snufkin asked, glancing over his shoulder at Moomin.

"Maybe without the ribbons," Moomin suggested.

Snufkin blinked, then huffed out a laugh. The ribbons were both green, tied in little bows.

"I quite like them, Moomintroll," Snufkin teased. "Perhaps, I'll keep my hair like this."

Moomin laughed, until Little My threw Snufkin's clothes at him. They were newly cleaned, again, by Mamma. Snufkin pulled himself together, but only held his hat as the three of them went downstairs. 

"You look very lovely, Snufkin," Mamma complimented with a smile. 

"Thank you for letting me use your tub," Snufkin replied.

"Anytime, Dear."

The afternoon was spent with Moomin and Little My trading the brush back and forth while Snufkin fished. His low, rumbling purr was cute, Moomin thought, while Little My had fun destroying his hair in different hairstyles.

 

The next day was bereft of any dead birds or rats, to Moomin's slight disappointment. Instead, he and Snufkin went on an adventure into the woods. Sniff hadn't wanted to come, since he'd grumbled that he had stuff to do. Snorkmaiden had explained, wearily, that she was going to kill her brother and dump his body in the woods for the stray cats and wolves, since he'd kept her up all night muttering to himself. Little My told them that she needed to see Mymble, it was Important with a capital I. So, the adventure was just Snufkin and Moomin.

The pair wandered without a goal in mind, climbing into trees every once in a while and picking flowers. Moomin was too happy for words, as Snufkin held his paw whenever they went over rough terrain or large rocks or fallen trees. It felt like they passed quite a few, as though Snufkin was leading them purposefully to them, but Moomin ignored that thought to beam at Snufkin whenever he asked if he was having fun.

They found a cave, eventually, and wandered into it. There was silence as the pair explored the short path for a bit. Moomin found a cool rock, turning to tell Snufkin about it, only to yelp instead when a bat screeched and flew directly into his face. He found himself scratched a bit, then the pat was gone. Moomin looked around, surprised by the sudden absence, only to see Snufkin, bat in mouth, blood dripping down his chin.

"Snufkin!" Moomin exclaimed, said boy flinching away. "Mamma washed that shirt yesterday! Oh, I hope she isn't upset."

"Are you upset?" Snufkin mumbled, pulling the bat from his bloodied mouth. It was quite dead.

"Of course not!" Moomin exclaimed, gripping Snufkin's free paw. "You saved me from that bat!"

"You're really not upset?" Snufkin murmured, dropping the bat unceremoniously on the floor.

"Promise," Moomin chirped. "Though you might want to wipe off your mouth. I can only tell myself it's raspberry jam so much."

Snufkin hurriedly wiped off his mouth, not releasing Moomin's paw. Moomin found it comforting, as they started back home.

 

On the first day of spring, Moomin recalled, Snufkin had gently pressed a humble stack of papers into his paws. He'd told Moomin that the paper was cheaper than journals and easier to burn if Moomin didn't like it. It was a memoir, of sorts, to thank Moomin for his friendship, Snufkin had explained, in more words and stuttering. Moomin adored it, and Snufkin, so he took the papers excitedly and gave Snufkin a hug. Snufkin had, to his surprise but joy, hugged him back.

Now, deep into the night, Moomin sat on his bed, flipping through the papers. He'd discovered, when he first flicked through them, that Snufkin thought about him a lot. Just about everything reminded Snufkin of him, from the clouds to the few kind strangers he met on the road to a pebble that he described as perfectly round and soft-looking, but it had shattered that park keeper's window very nicely. 

At first, any mention of their friends had surprised Moomin, especially since they were so sparse. He was almost jealous of the mentions, like the anklet-wearing child Snufkin had seen reminding him of Snorkmaiden, or the possum that had stopped in its tracks when it realized that Snufkin saw it, only to slowly roll onto its back and play dead, reminding him of Sniff. He mentions tiny, dark pink roses that he pictured Little My sitting in, then wondered how long it would take for her to notice if they floated her down the river on a little flower. Moomin can't bring himself to be jealous, however, because Snufkin mentions big, white roses with soft petals in a flower shop that remind him of Moomin.

Moomin wonders, as he stares at Snufkin's description of a traveler that had given him chocolate-covered coffee beans, which reminds Snufkin of Moomin because she had been so kind, just like Moomin was so kind all the time, and she'd had a little white ribbon tied to her tail, which reminded him of Moomin's white fur, and she'd had a tired smile, which reminded Snufkin of nights they'd stayed out too late, if Snufkin maybe has a bit of a crush on him.

Moomin blushes at the thought, closes the papers he was still working on binding together to keep forever, and hides them in his drawer where he kept the pajamas he never wore. He decided he felt a bit thirsty, so he wandered downstairs to fetch a glass of water. He yelped when he saw the stranger standing on the counter, on all fours like Little My sometimes did, but their eyes flashing in the little light.

Pappa, Mamma, and Little My rushed downstairs, Mamma lighting a lantern as she goes, revealing a figure who looked suspiciously like Snufkin, only with none of his softness. Pappa sighed, long and loud, which the stranger seemed to find incredibly funny as he climbed off the counter.

"Good evening, Joxter," Mamma greeted, delicately setting the lantern on the recently vacated counter. "It's been quite a while."

"I just wanted to see my dearest old friend," the stranger, Joxter apparently, grinned at Pappa, who repeated his previous sigh. 

The Joxter looked like Moomin had remembered Pappa describing him, once. He was scruffy, wore a green smock and red hat, and was kind of tiny, compared to them all. Taller than Little My, certainly, but that didn't say much. He didn't smell as bad as Pappa had described, but Moomin was still reasonably sure that Pappa's huffing meant this was the same Joxter.

"Did you lock the door, Little My?" Pappa scolded, paws on his hips like Mamma did.

"No!" Little My complained. "It's such a stupid rule, I can't even bring myself to break it!"

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. the Joxter," Moomin says, catching his attention and lazy gaze. "Pappa only mentioned you once, to complain about you."

Joxter looked so pleased, Moomin knew he'd said the right thing. Though it was late enough that the sun had still not risen, they gathered around the table to talk to their strange guest. Joxter batted at Little My's bun, to which Little My pouted up at him, but he only bopped her nose. Little My looked oddly infuriated by this reaction.

"It's rare for you to visit," Mamma commented, giving Joxter a warm mug of coffee.

"I couldn't stay away for long," Joxter stated, melodrama building in his tone.

"It's been almost two decades," Pappa grumbled.

"I had to confess my love," Joxter continued, as though Pappa hadn't spoken. "It's eaten away at me for countless years."

"You can't count to twenty?" Little My whispered.

"Moomin, I love you," Joxter stated, grabbing Pappa's paw and putting a dead rat there.

Pappa looked very envious of the rat, but Mamma only laughed.

"I married him, I'm afraid, Joxter," she told him.

"I'm okay with that," Joxter stated, digging through his smock. "I brought extra."

He grabbed Pappa's other paw, depositing another dead rat. Pappa sighed, heavily, through his nose, ruffling the fur of the dead mice.

"I'm flattered," Mamma seemed more amused than disgusted, which was oddly calming for Moomin but made Little My want to hit her head against the table.

"What did you really come for?" Pappa asked, throwing both rats in the garbage.

"I got a letter, requesting my presence," Joxter explained, pulling out said crumpled letter. "It's from my son. He said he wants help wooing someone. So, I decided to drop by."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Moomin is reminded of Pappa's stories of the Joxter. His smug grin, his condescending looks, the fact that he always found Pappa's pillow, no matter where Pappa hid it, to put dead mice on. Mamma had stood beside him throughout the story, a pitying but amused look on her face. When confronted, the Joxter had reportedly said, "You're not as good a hunter as me, not quite yet. Why? Do you prefer birds? Oh my, how can you be so picky? We are on a boat, you know, Moomin. Just accept the rat, Moomin. Aren't you an adventurer, Moomin? Eat the rat, Moomin." The whole story had, as Moomin told Joxter, dissolved into Pappa muttering complaints, but at the dinner table, that night, Moomin was reminded of the rat on their doormat.

"Anyway, my advice didn't go over very well," Joxter shrugged, as though there was nothing more to be done. 

"Your advice involved dead mice," Little My hissed.

"Now, now, Little My," Joxter tutted. "The dead mouse worked with Mymble, you know."

"It was not the dead mouse!" Little My huffed. "It was the flowers! I keep telling you-"

"Anyway," Joxter purred. "I figured I'd come to you guys and ask for assistance."

"Dead mice never work with Moomintrolls," Mamma commented, offhandedly. "They're a bit softer, you know? Flowers, kind words, the sort of sweet things that come after the dead mice, for you, Joxter."

"This is why I came to you," Joxter sighed. "I just never think of those things."

"You're so dumb," Little My whispered.

"What about you, Baby Moomin?" Joxter asked, suddenly, turning to Moomin. "How would you prefer to be wooed, for example?"

"You're a bit old for me, Mr. the Joxter," Moomin stated.

"That's not-"

"But, I've always thought it would be nice to be confessed to in some secret place, after a great adventure," Moomin cooed. "I've always loved those books Pappa has where the lovers exchange letters! It's so romantic."

"That makes more sense than a dead mouse, now thinking on it," Joxter muttered.

"You are actually the worst at life." Little My didn't even bother whispering.

 

Moomin was aware that Joxter was Snufkin's dad. He was also aware, as Snufkin handed him a crumpled letter with a bright blush on his face, that Snufkin definitely liked him. He wondered if he should just put Snufkin out of his misery and tell him he loved him, but glanced at the letter. 

Moomin had always secretly imagined what a love letter from Snufkin would be like. He had imagined sweet words, thick like honey and even sweeter. He hadn't imagined that Snufkin would describe him, very cutely!, as similar to marshmallows. "Sweet, fluffy, soft, round, perfect." Moomin felt his heart thump nearly out of his chest. Snufkin was too cute.

"Snufkin," Moomin sighed with a smile. "You have to know that I love you already! You don't need to woo me."

"Just in case," Snufkin murmured, pulling his hat down to cover his red face. 

Moomin took Snufkin's paws away from his face, nuzzling into the red skin. Snufkin purred, the soft rumble as cute as everything else. He hugged Moomin desperately, clinging to Moomin's neck as if Moomin would ever ask him to let go. Moomin hugged him back.

"Did you really think the dead mouse would work?" Moomin asked.

"Don't make fun of me," Snufkin grumbled, burying his face in Moomin's fur. "I panicked. Dad told me it always worked for him."

"Pappa didn't even know what it meant, he thought Joxter wanted to prank him."

"That's why I didn't put it on your pillow," Snufkin explained.

"I love you," Moomin laughed.

Snufkin accepted this with another hug.


End file.
